BANCROFT 
LIBRARY 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 


THE  TRAGEDY 


OF 


THOMPSON  DUNBAR 


A  TALE  OF  SALT  LAKE  CITY 


BY 

MAX  ADELER 


PHILADELPHIA 

J.  M.  STODDART  &  CO. 

1879 


^  "  "  "  "  Ff  3i 


ff"4"a7 


W\t  '^tn^ttti  tl  %\tmpm  Jttnkr. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  ELOPEMENT, 

^^ALT  LAKE  CITY;  the  Mormon  capital!  Let 
'I  us  look  at  it.  It  lies  deep  in  the  valley,  in  a 
valley  which  is  six  thousand  feet  above  the 
level  of  the  sea.  To  the  right,  to  the  left,  to  the  north, 
the  south,  the  east,  and  the  west,  mountains  ! 

Some  near,  some  far.  Some  mighty,  some  dwarfed 
by  contrast  with  the  greater.  A  serrated  chain  of  hills 
filling  the  whole  horizon  and  outlining  their  dusky  sum- 
mits clearly  against  the  pure  blue  of  the  sky.  From 
among  them  the  Twin  Peaks  rise,  boldly  and  grandly, 
seventy-five  hundred  feet  above  the  valley,  and  stand  in 
hoary  grandeur,  their  snow-clad  tops  the  reservoirs  from 
which  the  plain  draws  inexhaustible  supplies  of  cold  and 
limpid  water.  The  plain  itself,  a  wide  stretch  of  sandy 
earth,  partly  cultivated,  but  almost  wholly  covered  upon 


I  o  THOMPSON  D UNBAR. 


this  August  day  with  myriads  of  gleaming  golden  sun- 
flowers, which  to  him  who  takes  a  bird's-eye  view,  seem 
a  garb  altogether  glorious.  Lying  in  the  midst  of  it,  the 
city. 

America  has  no  other  like  it.  Surveyed  from  a 
distance  it  wears  a  distinctly  Oriental  appearance.  So 
we  of  the  Far  West  who  have  only  dreamed  of  the  East, 
imagine  how  Damascus  may  look.  White  houses  shin- 
ing amid  rich  masses  of  green  foliage.  A  dome,  a  tower, 
a  spire,  that  may  answer  for  a  minaret,  deep  gardens, 
buildings  with  flat  roofs,  a  faint  mist  of  dust  marking  the 
line  of  a  travelled  street,  a  sky  of  more  than  Oriental 
softness  overhead,  and  an  atmosphere  so  pure  that  to 
breathe  it  is  luxury,  and  to  look  through  it  is  to  gain  such 
power  of  vision  that  the  peaks  of  the  Wasatch  range, 
twenty  miles  away,  seem  within  reach  of  the  pedestrian 
who  has  five  minutes  to  spare. 

In  the  city  there  are  broad  streets  covered  with  gravel. 
Upon  each  side  where  the  gutter  should  be,  there  is  a 
stream  of  pure  and  delicious  water  hurtling  fiercely  along 
with  the  impetus  gained  at  the  top  of  the  Twin  Peaks. 
The  dwellings  of  stone,  of  wood,  of  adobe  or  sun-burned 
bricks,  are  far  apart  and  enshrined  among  mighty  trees. 
Shops,  here  and  there,  thrust  themselves  out  to  the  edge 
of  the  footway,  and  offer  their  wares  to  the  passers-by. 

It  is  a  queer  throng  that  is  thus  tempted.  Such  a 
one  as  no  other  street  in  this  broad  earth  can  gather. 
Here  is  a  Mormon  saint,  a  patriarch  with  twelve  wives, 
and  so  many  children  that  he  is  compelled  to  refer  to  his 
memorandum  book  for  a  list  of  them.  Stout,  rugged, 
coarse  in  nature  and  feature,  he  is  of  the  kind  that  found 


THE^  TRA  GED  Y  OF  II 

his  valley  a  wilderness  and  transformed  it  into  a  luscious 
garden.  There  is  a  Utah  Indian,  clad  perhaps  in  a  stove- 
pipe hat,  a  blanket,  and  buckskin  breeches.  He  wears 
huge  earrings,  long  straight  hair,  thick,  and  as  black  as 
midnight.  Here  is  a  Mexican — dashing  along  at  break- 
neck speed,  upon  a  shaggy  pony.  He  wears  a  dress 
as  picturesque  as  that  of  a  Greek,  and  he  is  as  fine  a 
horseman  as  the  Arabian  desert  knows.  There  go  two 
army  officers,  wearing  blue  coats,  and  looking  as  if  they 
were  in  authority.  They  hie  to  the  camp  upon  the  hill 
side,  from  whence  the  guns  that  they  control  can  level 
the  city  in  a  day.  Gentile  miners,  with  fierce  whiskers, 
broad  hats,  trousers  tucked  in  boots,  and  pistols  thrust  in 
belts,  swagger  about  in  search  of  firewater;  Mormon 
policemen,  quiet,  reserved,  but  keen  as  hounds,  stand 
upon  the  corners.  Huge  waggons  drawn  by  six,  and 
eight,  and  fen  mules  come  lumbering  down  the  street, 
bringing  from  outlying  settlements  of  the  saints  the  tithes 
for  the  Prophet's  storehouse.  Hurrying  past  them,  dash 
graceful  and  elegant  pleasure  carriages  such  as  Hyde 
Park  might  be  proud  of.  But  where  are  the  women  ?  Of 
men  there  are  enough.  Now  and  then  a  Gentile  woman 
passes,  but  not  often  ;  and  the  Mormon  women  appear 
still  less  frequently.  It  is  Orientalism  in  the  extreme 
Occident.  There  is  the  polygamy  of  Turkey  with  an 
approach  to  the  custom  which  keeps  the  woman  under 
a  veil.  It  is  a  strange  city,  a  new  city,  born  within  the 
last  half  century  ;  a  city  of  its  own  kind ;  a  city  that  is  as 
striking,  as  novel,  as  interesting,  as  unprecedented  to  the 
view  of  the  American  who  lives  east  of  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains, as  it  is  to  that  of  the  citizen  of  London, 


1 2  THOMPSON  DUNBAR, 

To  begin  with.  We  have  to  do  with  a  large  white 
adobe  structure,  which  stands  upon  the  eastern  edge  of 
the  town,  in  the  midst  of  a  garden,  wherein  are  trees  that 
overtop  the  roof,  and  grass  that  is  gemmed  with  flowers. 
It  is  Mrs.  Ballygag's  Boarding  School  for  young  ladies. 
Two  young  men  meet  at  the  gate.  We  recognize  them 
as  young  Mormons.  One  is  Thompson  Dunbar ;  the 
other  is  Arbutus  Jones.     Arbutus  is  speaking. 

"  Yes,  sir ;  I  shall  marry  them  ;  clean  out  the  school. 
I  have  had  a  special  revelation ;  the  entire  senior  class 
has  been  sealed  to  me,  and  I  am  going  to  marry  the  two 
other  classes  so  as  to  make  a  complete  job  of  it." 

"  But  the  senior  and  junior  classes  have  engaged 
themselves  to  me,"  replied  Dunbar.  **  I  proposed  to  them 
yesterday,  and  they  said  that  they  could  love  me  alone." 

"  Can't  help  that,*'  said  Jones  ;  "  I  have  arranged  the 
matter  with  the  Prophet  and  the  parents.  The  entire 
concern  has  been  offered  me  in  marriage,  and  I  am  now 
on  my  way  to  see  Mrs.  Ballygag,  and  to  get  her  to  wind 
up  the  term  and  graduate  them  at  once." 

"This  is  maddening  !  "  exclaimed  Dunbar.  ''Jones, 
the  affections  of  those  classes  have  been  given  to  me — 
their  young  hearts  are  mine.  What  right  have  you  to 
come  in  and  trample  rudely  upon  the  holiest  emotions  of 
your  fellow-creatures  ?  " 

"  The  best  of  rights,  in  this  case,"  said  Jones.  "  It 
has  been  revealed  to  me  that  my  duty  is  to  annex  this 
boarding-school.  It  is  a  sacred  obligation.  There  is  not 
a  bit  of  use,  you  know,  Dunbar,  in  your  kicking  against 
the  decrees  of  the  church." 

"  But  you  don't  want  the  whole  thirty- two  of  them  ? " 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF  13 

"Yes,  sir;  I  want  them  all.  I  claim  them  as  my 
bride/' 

"I  love  them  all  dearly,"  said  Dunbar  ;  "but  sooner 
than  have  any  luss  I'll  let  you  pick  sixteen,  if  you'll  leave 
me  the  rest." 

"  No ;  I  shall  take  them  all.  But  I  don't  know : 
maybe,  I  might  agree  to  leave  you  the  one  with  warm 
hair  and  freckles.  My  heart,  somehow,  doesn't  throb 
wildly  for  her." 

"  Never  !  "  exclaimed  Dunbar. 

"  Oh,  very  well,  then.  Let  her  alone.  I'll  pool  her  in 
with  the  rest." 

The  eye  of  Thompson  Dunbar  flashed  fire.  Step- 
ping up  to  Arbutus  Jones,  he  whispered  fiercely  in  his  ear  : 

"  You  think  you  will  marry  this  school.  Never ! 
never  !  I  swear  it !  My  faith  is  pledged  to  the  women 
of  my  love,  and  they  shall  be  mine.  Mark  what  I  say  ! 
I  shall  make  them  my  wife  ! " 

Arbutus  Jones  opened  the  gate,  and,  turning  away 
with  a  light  laugh,  he  said,  **  Dunbar,  don't  talk  like  an 
idiot,"  and  then  he  walked  up  to  the  porch,  pulled  the 
door-bell, and  called  for  Mrs.  Ballygag. 

Thompson  Dunbar  sauntered  sadly  down  the  street, 
meditating  upon  his  plans.  Secretly  he  entered  his  office, 
and  writing  thirty-two  letters,  he  dispatched  them  through 
the  post,  and  then  went  towards  the  livery-stable. 

Midnight  came.  Dark,  cold,  and  silent.  The  belated 
wayfarer,  walking  into  town,  was  startled  to  perceive, 
rushing  by  him  in  the  gloom,  a  man,  who  seemed  to  be 
carrying  a  coil  of  rope  upon  his  arm.  Behind  him  eight 
carriages  proceeded  slowly,  and  with  little  noise. 


1 4  THOMPSON  D UNBAR. 

**  A  midnight  funeral  procession."  the  traveller  thought. 

The  man  stopped  in  front  of  Mrs.  Ballygag's  mansion. 
The  carriages  halted  by  the  kerbstone,  a  hundred  yards 
below.  The  man  opened  the  gate  noiselessly,  and  walked 
quickly  around  to  the  side  of  the  house.  He  uttered  a 
low  whistle,  and  a  sash  in  a  second-story  window  was 
carefully  raised.  He  flung  toward  it  the  end  of  a  rope, 
which  was  seized  and  hauled  until  a  ladder  of  rope 
stretched  from  the  window  to  the  ground. 

"  Come,  dearest."  said  Thompson  Dunbar,  in  a  loud 
whisper.  **  Do  not  be  afraid.  I  will  catch  you  if  you  fall.*' 
Then  the  form  of  a  lithe  and  graceful  girl  emerged  from 
the  window,  and  glided  slowly,  but  easily  down  the  frail 
ladder.  Then  another  descended.  Then  another,  until 
thirty- two  lithe  and  graceful  girls  had  reached  the  ground. 
As  they  came,  Thompson  Dunbar  clasped  them  one  by 
one  in  his  arms,  and  kissed  them  fervently,  pointing  the 
way  to  the  carriages. 

The  last  one  whispered  in  his  ravished  ear  that  the 
thirty-two  trunks  were  standing,  ready  packed,  in  the 
chamber  above,  and  that  Thompson  had  better  see  to 
getting  them  down.  But  the  idea  did  not  seem  to  strike 
Thompson.  He  asked  himself  what  love  had  to  do  with 
trunks  ?  He  thought  how  little  pure  affection  cares  for 
material  things.  He  knew  that  he  was  ready  to  die  for 
his  darlings.  That  would  be  heroic.  But  to  carry  thirty- 
two  trunks  down  a  rope-ladder,  he  considered,  in  the 
strictest  sense,  a  prosaic  performance.  Did  Romeo 
shoulder  Juliet's  trunk  ?  Did  Paul  take  Virginia  upon  one 
arm.  and  her  trunk  upon  the  other  ?  Did  Petrarch  inter- 
rupt his  sweet  converse  with  Laura  with  struggles  with 


HIE  TRAGEDY  OF 


15 


her  luggage?  He  thought  not.  Let  the  trunks  remain 
as  a  souvenir  with  Mrs.  Ballygag.  He  gloated  over  the 
thought  that  she  and  Jones  would  weep  tears  of  anguish 
and  helpless  rage  over  those  leathern  receptacles 

He  went  toward  the  carriages.  They  were  all  filled, 
and  the  doors  were  closed.  He  mounted  upon  the  seat 
with  the  driver  of  the  foremost  one,  and  said  : — 

''  Drive  like  mad,  now  !  Forty  dollars  extra  for  you, 
if  you  reach  Ogden  by  daylight ! " 

The  vehicles  dashed  onward  swiftly  through  the  night. 
Over  rough  roads,  down  through  canons,  through  dense 
forests,  over  mighty  hills,  along  the  brow  of  more  than 
one  precipice  ;  scaring  the  fox  and  the  rabbit  that  lay  in 
the  path  ;  waking  the  echoes  of  the  passes,  and  defying 
the  winds  which  blew  in  gusty  blasts  from  the  mountain 
tops. 

It  was  a  long  and  difficult  ride.  It  would  have  been 
tedious  for  Thompson  and  his  bride,  but  for  the  thought 
that  each  moment  brought  them  nearer  to  the  wedded 
bliss  which  is  the  holiest  joy  that  has  ever  sweetened 
human  life. 

The  day  was  faintly  breaking  over  the  summits  of  the 
Wasatch  range  when  the  procession  entered  Ogden. 
Thompson  ordered  his  companion  to  drive  at  once  to  the 
house  of  Bishop  Potts.  The  Bishop's  dwelling  showed 
no  signs  of  life.  He  was  asleep  with  his  family— at  that 
early  hour.  Thompson  rang  the  door  bell  fiercely.  The 
Bishop's  grey  head  was  thrust  from  the  window. 

"  Who  is  making  all  that  racket  down  there  ?  "  he  said 
**  What's  the  matter  ?     What  do  you  want  ?  " 

*'  It's   I,  Thompson  Dunbar!      I've  run  over  from  the 


1 6  THOMPSON  D UNBAR. 

city  to  be  married.     Hurry  down  and  perform  the  cere- 
mony, please." 

**  Can't  you  get  married  at  some  less  unearthly  hour 
than  this  ?  I've  been  up  all  night  with  the  twins  and 
sixteen  others  of  the  children,  and  four  of  Mrs.  Potts  have 
not  had  a  wink  of  sleep,  and  here  you  come  routing  us 
out  just  as  we  are  dozing  off !  I'll  marry  you  after  break- 
fast.     There  is  no  hurry  about  it,  I  reckon." 

**  But  there  is  a  hurry  though.  I've  eloped  with  Mrs. 
Ballygag's  boarding  school.  It  loved  me,  and  they 
wanted  to  marry  it  to  another  man,  Arbutus  Jones,  you 
know ;  so  it  fled  with  me.  We  are  bent  on  instantaneous 
consolidation  !  *' 

**  How  many  of  her  are  there  ?"  asked  the  Bishop. 

"  Only  thirty-two." 

•*  And  you're  single  1  '* 

"Yes." 

"  Very  well.  That'll  do  to  begin  with,  but  a  man 
of  your  standing  must  disembowel  a  couple  more 
boarding  schools  if  you  want  to  hold  your  own  in  the 
church!  I'll  come  down  and  see  what  I  can  do  for 
you." 

Thompson  helped  his  bride  to  alight,  and  a  most  charm- 
ing picture  she  presented,  standing  there  in  a  row  in  the 
early  morning  light,  blushing  with  modest  joy  beneath  the 
smiles  and  caresses  of  her  devoted  lover.  While  she 
waited  for  the  Bishop  she  engaged  in  a  simultaneous 
arrangement  of  her  back  hair.  Thompson  thought  she 
had  never  appeared  so  lovely  as  when,  holding  the  front 
strands  in  her  mouth,  the  whole  thirty- two  of  her  twisted 
up  her  tresscS;  and  inserted  her  combs  in  them. 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF  1 7 

A  moment  later  the  front  door  opened,  and  the  Bishop 
appeared  in  dressing-gown  and  shppers. 

Mr.  Dunbar  ushered  the  bride  into  the  Bishop's  draw- 
ing-room, and  seated  her  upon  the  sofas  and  chairs. 
Then  he  drew  the  Bishop  aside. 

"  By  the  way,  Bishop,  what  are  you  going  to  charge  .'* 
What  are  your  rates  ?  ^ 

"  Well,"  said  the  Bishop,  smiHng,  "  where  there  is  only 
one  couple  my  regular  fee  is  two  dollars.  But  of  course 
I  allow  a  discount  on  wholesale  transactions.  I'll  tell  you 
what  I'll  do.  Seeing  that  you  are  a  young  man,  and 
evidently  in  earnest  in  your  efforts  to  start  properly  in 
life,  I'll  put  you  the  whole  lot  in  at  forty-five  dollars. 
How's  that?" 

"  Reasonable,  very  reasonable,  indeed,'*  said  Thomp- 
son. 

*'  Stand  up,  my  dear,"  said  the  Bishop  to  the  bride. 

The  bride  stood  up  in  a  semicircle,  while  in  the 
doorway  gathered  seven  or  eight  of  the  Bishop's  wife,  to 
witness  the  impressive  scene. 

Thompson  Dunbar  then  advanced,  and  taking  from 
the  pocket  of  his  coat  tail  a  quarter  of  a  peck  of  gold 
rings  he  put  them  in  his  hat  and  handed  them  to  the 
Bishop,  who  began  the  service. 

**  Thompson  Dunbar,  you  take  these  women  for  your 
wedded  wife?  You  promise  to  love,  honour, and  cherish?" 
etc.,  etc. 

Thompson  Dunbar  said,  "  I  do." 

The  Bishop,  turning  to  the  bride,  said — 

*'Emma,  Henrietta,  Louisa,  Geraldine,  Polly,  Mary 
Jane,  Matilda,  Gertrude,  Lucy,  Imogene,  Sally,  Rebecca, 


1 8  THOMPSON  DUNBAR, 

Maria,  Georgine.  Hetty,  Columbia,  Martha,  Caroline, 
Patty,  Julia,  Emily,  Anastasia,  Rachel,  Sapphira,  Ethel- 
berta,  Hannah,  Josephine,  Bertie,  Mignon,  Patience, 
Agatha,  Ann  Jane — you  take  this  man  to  be  your  wedded 
husband?  You  promise  to  love,  honour,  and  obey?" 
etc.,  etc. 

And  the  bride  said  she  did,  and  she  would. 

Then  Thompson,  with  gladness  in  his  eyes,  and  wild 
emotions  in  his  bosom,  took  the  hat  from  the  Bishop  and 
walked  around  the  semi-circle  of  the  bride,  and  placed 
the  rings  on  her  fingers.  Then  the  Bishop  pronounced 
them  man  and  wife;  and  Thompson  started  around 
the  bridal  curve  again  to  clasp  her  in  succession  to  his 
heart. 

He  was  just  releasing  himself  from  the  twenty-sixth 
clasp  when  a  wild  tumult  was  heard  in  the  street ;  the 
noise  of  hurrying  wheels,  the  quick  tramp  of  horses,  a 
crying  of  voices.  The  Bishop  went  to  the  casement  to 
ascertain  the  cause  of  the  tumult  which  disturbed  the 
happy  marriage  festivities.  Before  he  reached  the  win- 
dow the  door  was  hurled  open  with  violence,  and  in 
rushed  Arbutus  Jones.     Behind  him  was  Mrs.  Ballygag. 

Jones  was  white  and  breathless.  Mrs.  Ballygag  panted, 
and  brandished  in  a  threatening  manner  a  protuberant 
umbrella. 

"  Stop !  stop!"  shouted  Jones,  as  he  projected  himselt 
into  the  room.  **  Don't  go  on !  I  forbid  the  marriage ! 
these  women  are  to  be  my  wife!  This  man  is  a  depraved 
villain!  I  command  you,  Bishop,  not  to  perform  the 
ceremony ! " 

**  Don't  you  dare  to  do  it,  you  grey  haired  old  mon- 


THE   TRAGEDY  OF  19 


ster  !  ^  shrieked  Mrs.  Ballygag,  menacing  him  with  her 
umbrella.     "  You  do  it  at  your  peril !  *' 

"  I  think,"  said  the  Bishop,  serenely,  "  you  had  better 
try  to  be  calmer.  Try  to  restrain  your  emotion,  as  the 
weather  is  too  warm  for  violent  excitement." 

"  Let  'em  go  on,"  said  Dunbar.  "It  makes  no  differ- 
ence if  they  get  their  emotional  thermometers  up  to  a 
hundred  and  ten  in  the  shade ;  nobody  cares." 

"You  don't  care,  hey.'*"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Ballygag, 
"  you  don't  care  !  TU  make  you  care  if  there's  any  law  in 
the  land.  Coming  round  people's  houses  with  rope-ladders 
in  the  middle  of  the  night,  stealing  their  poor  defenceless 
children  !     I'll  see  if  you  don't  care  !'* 

"  Children,  madam  ?  "  said  the  Bishop. 

"  Pretty  tough  children,  these  1"  said  Thompson,  wav- 
ing his  hand  toward  the  bride. 

"  Yes,  children,"  replied  Mrs.  Ballygag,  "  mere  babes 
and  sucklings.  Getting  married,  you  baggage!"  said 
she,  looking  at  the  bride.  "  You're  in  a  nice  condition 
to  think  about  marriage !  How  do  you  bound  Nova 
Scotia  ?  Tell  me  this  instant  1  Don't  know  ?  I  thought 
not!  Don't  know  how  to  bound  Nova  Scotia — don't 
know  that  the  Tropic  of  Capricorn  is  not  one  of  the 
United  States  ;  don't  know  that  the  Peloponnesian  war 
was  not  fought  by  negroes  in  Canada  West,  and  yet  you 
consider  yourselves  fitted  for  the  responsibilities  of  mat- 
rimony!     It's  simply  too  ridiculous  to  be  discussed." 

**  I  am  sorry,  madam,  that  they  are  ignorant  of  the 
geographical  facts  connected  with  the  Peloponnesian  war, 
but  we  will  try  to  be  happy  while  we  study  them  up  to- 
gether/' 


20  THOMPSON  DUNBAR. 

"  You  will  never  study  them  together,"  remarked 
Arbutus  Jones      **  These  ladies  return  at  once  with  me." 

"  Certainly  !  "  said  Mrs.  Ballygag  ;  "  they  go  back  to 
school  to-day.  I  shall  put  them  on  bread  and  water,  and 
give  them  fifteen  extra  sums  a-piece  in  Reduction  of 
Compound  Numbers." 

"  They  will  no^  go  back,  I  think,"  said  Thompson. 

"  We'll  see  about  that,"  replied  Jones.  "  Girls,  leave 
the  room ! " 

**  Don't  go !  "  said  Thompson. 

^'  Attend  to  your  own  business  !  "  exclaimed  Arbutus, 
fiercely. 

"If  you  speak  to  me  in  that  manner  again,  111  throw 
you  out  of  the  window !  "  said  Dunbar. 

"  Lay  your  hand  upon  me  and  you  are  a  dead  man," 
replied  Arbutus,  drawing  a  revolver. 

"  Two  can  play  at  that  game,"  said  Thompson, 
quickly  drawing  another. 

What  the  result  might  have  been  if  the  dispute  had 
proceeded  further  can  only  be  conjectured ;  but  as  soon 
as  the  weapons  were  produced,  the  bride  shrieked  wildly, 
and  the  whole  thirty-two  o^  her  fell  fainting  on  the  floor, 
while  Mrs.  Ballygag  collapsed,  and  embracing  her  um- 
brella, sank  unconscious  in  the  corner. 

For  a  moment,  wild  confusion  prevailed ;  but  the 
Bishop  retained  his  presence  of  mind,  and  running  into 
the  garden,  he  seized  a  huge  watering-pot,  and  bringing  it 
in,  he  sprinkled  the  faces  of  the  bride  with  water  until 
one  by  one  she  revived.  Mrs  Ballygag  came  to  without 
assistance,  and  sat  up  looking  the  picture  of  distress. 

When  all  of  the  party  were  restored,  the  Bishop  said ; 


"Two  can  play  at    that  game,    baid  'Ihompbon. — ^a^e  20. 


2  2  THOMPSON  D  UNBAR. 

"  Let  us  have  no  more  of  these  scenes  !  Mr.  Jones, 
it  is  my  duty  to  inform  you  that  you  have  come 
too  late.  Mr.  Dunbar  is  already  married  to  these 
ladies.'' 

**  Married !  "  shouted  Jones. 

•*  Married!"  shrieked  Mrs.  Ballygag, 

**  Married,"  replied  the  Bishop  and  Thompson. 

'*This  is  infamous,"  said  Arbutus.  "Dunbar,  you 
have  played  me  a  scurvy  trix:k.  But  I  shall  be  even  with 
you." 

"You  can  have  any  satisfaction  you  want,"  replied 
Dunbar.  "  But,  I  say,  Jones,  how  about  that  revelation  ? 
Crooked,  wasn't  it  ?  Didn't  reveal  so  very  much  after 
all?" 

**  We  shall  see  ! "  exclaimed  Jones  ;  and  then  smash- 
ing his  hat  down  savagely  upon  his  head,  he  left  the 
room. 

Mrs.  Ballygag  began  to  cry. 

"  You  have  treated  me  shamefully,"  she  said.  **  The 
last  quarter's  bills  of  these  girls  are  not  paid.  I  can't  have 
any  commencement ;  the  reputation  of  the  school  is 
ruined;  and  I  am  a  poor  lone  widow- woman,  with  no- 
body to  help  me  ! " 

And  Mrs.  Ballygag  sank  down  upon  a  sofa  and  sobbed 
violently. 

Then  the  bride  began  to  cry  also.  It  was  altogether 
too  melancholy  for  a  wedding.  The  Bishop  drew  Thomp- 
son aside. 

**  Dunbar,"  he  whispered,  **  you'll  have  to  do  some- 
thing for  this  woman.     You  must  do  the  fair  thing." 

"  What  do  you  recommend  ?  " 


THE^  TRAGEDY  OF  23 

"  Well,  to  tell  the  truth,  if  I  were  you,  Td  marry  her. 
just  throw  her  in  with  the  rest,  as  a  kind  of  job  lot* 
You  might  as  well  go  the  whole  figure,  while  you're 
at  it." 

"  I  suppose  I  might.     I'll  take  her.'* 

"  I'll  charge  you  only  twenty- five  cents  extra  for  tying 
the  knot,"  said  the  benevolent  Bishop. 

**  You  propose  it  to  her,"  said  Thompson. 

**  Mrs.  Ballygag,"  said  the  Bishop,  "  how  would  you 
like  to  marry  Mr.  Dunbar,  in  with  the  rest  ?  He  says  he 
is  wiUing." 

With  a  wild  cry  of  joy,  Mrs.  Ballygag  rushed  forward 
and  threw  her  arms  about  Dunbar's  neck  and  nestled  her 
head  in  his  bosom. 

"  Do  you  love  me,  Thompson  ?"  she  asked,  looking  up 
at  him. 

'*  Well,  yes ;  that  is,  of  course,  as  it  were,  to  a— to  a 
—  to  a  certain  extent  !  Take  your  umbrella  off  my  toe, 
please  ;  the  pressure  is  too  severe  !" 

'*  Then  take  me,  take  me  !"  she  exclaimed.  "  I'll  help 
you  manage  the  girls." 

The  girls  looked  as  if  they  were  not  bursting  with 
ecstasy ;  but  they  wanted  to  be  submissive  to  Thompson, 
and  so  they  said  nothing. 

Then  Dunbar  took  Mrs.  Ballygag  by  the  hand,  the 
Bishop  began  the  ceremony,  and  in  a  few  moments  she 
was  made  a  thirty-third  of  him. 


24  THOMPSON  DUNBAR, 

CHAPTER  II. 

THE  DEPARTURE. 

Upon  the  homeward  journey  most  of  the  bride  rode  in 
the  eight  carriages,  while  the  joyous  groom  occupied  his 
former  seat  with  the  coachman  of  the  foremost  vehicle. 
The  recent  Mrs.  Ballygag,  however,  was  compelled  by 
the  want  of  room  also  to  ride  with  one  of  the  drivers. 
She  entertained  him  during  the  journey  by  a  cross-exami- 
nation, the  purpose  of  which  was  to  ascertain  if,  in  his 
opinion,  a  horse  is  an  adverb  or  a  preposition,  and  if  he 
knew  how  to  multiply  vulgar  fractions.  When  he  re- 
marked to  her,  "  I  ain't  got  no  use  for  a  hymn-book,"  she 
parsed  the  sentence  for  him,  and  showed  him  clearly  how 
tv/o  negatives  make  an  affirmative. 

Whenever  his  horses  were  disposed  to  go  slowly,  she 
prodded  them  savagely  with  the  ferule  of  her  umbrella, 
and  sometimes  when  the  portion  of  the  bride  which  was 
riding  in  the  carriage  beneath  her  laughed  too  boiste- 
rously, she  would  reach  over  and  push  her  umbrella  in  at 
the  window  two  or  three  times  to  indicate  her  disapproba- 
tion of  such  scandalous  behaviour. 

Altogether,  it  is  believed  that  the  late  widow  Ballygag 
enjoyed  the  trip  exceedingly.  But  it  is  doubtful  if  the 
driver  did  ;  and  it  is  certain  Thompson  did  not,  at  least, 
during  the  periods  when  they  were  passing  along  the 
edges  of  the  precipices,  and  she  was  constantly  scream- 
ing for  him  to  come  and  save  her  from  being  dashed  to 
pieces. 

At  last,  however,  Salt  Lake  City  was  reached,  and  the 
bridal  party  was  taken  at  once  to  Dunbar's  modest  little 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF  25 


cottage.  When  the  bride  had  all  dismounted  and  entered 
the  drawing-room,  Thompson  whispered  to  the  late  Mrs. 
Ballygag  that  there  were  four  of  his  wife  to  whom  he  had 
not  yet  been  formally  introduced,  and  he  begged  her  to 
perform  the  ceremony.  She  did  so,  remarking  at  the 
same  time  to  the  girls— 

"  Your  husband  is  a  good  and  worthy  man,  and  I  want 
you  to  behave  well  towards  him.  I  am  going  to  keep  an 
eye  on  you  to  see  that  you  do  it,  too !'' 

The  honeymoon  passed  blissfully.  Thompson  Dun- 
bar was  by  profession  a  sailor,  and  having  no  ship  at  this 
time  he  was  at  liberty  to  devote  himself  wholly  to  domes- 
tic life.  He  purchased  new  furniture  for  his  house.  He 
made  a  contract  with  the  calico  factory  for  permanent 
supplies  of  dress  goods,  and  the  factory  at  once  put  in 
extra  looms  and  employed  more  hands.  He  bought  bon- 
nets with  a  recklessness  that  threatened  bankruptcy.  He 
established  relations  with  a  candy  manufacturer,  which 
guaranteed  him  the  few  tons  of  chocolate  drops  that  he 
required  at  lower  rates  than  usual.  In  fact,  he  launched 
himself  fairly  and  equally  upon  the  sea  of  wedded  life. 

Wedded  hfe  !  Ah,  how  few  of  us  understand  those 
words  as  they  came  to  Thompson  Dunbar  and  his  bride  ! 
To  how  few  have  they  so  rich  and  beautiful  a  meaning ! 
Many  of  us  think  that  we  have  had  sweet  experiences 
within  the  sacred  precincts  of  the  home ;  but  not  to  many 
of  us  is  it  given  to  have  thirty-four  souls  with  but  a  single 
thought — thirty-four  hearts  that  beat  as  one.  The  man 
who  sits  down  with  one  wife  by  his  hearthstone,  and  thinks 
he  is  happy,  knows  nothing  of  the  tenderer  joy  of  him  who, 
around  a  hearthstone  twenty  feet  square,  gathers   thirty- 


2  6  THOMPSON  D  UNBAR, 

two  sweet  faces  (the  recent  Mrs.  Ballygag  was  homely), 
and  looks  love  into  all  of  those  eyes  that  speak  again. 
Such  a  man  has  a  nobler  affection,  a  loftier  aim,  a  purer 
ambition,  a  mightier  impulse  to  dash  into  the  struggle 
of  life  and  win  his  bread.  Who  would  not  toil  valiantly 
with  thirty-three  smiles  waiting  to  welcome  him  home, 
and  thirty-three  hungry  women  to  nourish  ? 

Thompson  Dunbar  was  proud,  and  he  had  a  right  to 
be.  Never  once  in  the  early  days  of  his  married  Hfe  did 
anything  happen  to  cloud  his  domestic  sky  ;  excepting, 
perhaps,  on  one  occasion,  when  the  relict  of  the  lamented 
Ballygag  hid  the  kitten  in  his  boot  and  forgot  to  tell  him 
about  it ;  and  never  did  he  have  any  doubts  of  the  future 
excepting  when  he  reflected  upon  the  anguish  he  should 
suffer  when  his  duty  should  call  him  away  from  those  he 
lov^ed. 

And  the  painful  summons  came  at  last.  He  was 
ordered  to  join  his  ship  at  San  Francisco.  She  was  about 
to  sail  upon  a  three  years'  cruise.  Three  years  !  It 
seemed  intolerable  to  be  separated  so  long  from  his  dar- 
lings. Poor  Dunbar !  If  he  could  have  foreseen  the 
trials  that  were  in  store  for  him ! 

The  hour  of  parting  arrived.  Let  us  draw  a  veil  over 
the  scene.  There  are  some  things  too  sacred  for  the  vul- 
gar eye  ;  some  episodes  in  a  man's  life,  of  which  to  speak 
lightly  were  a  profanation.  Mrs.  Dunbar  clung  to  him,  of 
course.  Ah,  may  none  of  us  ever  know  the  agony  of  such 
a  farewell.  May  we  never  know  what  a  husband  suffers 
to  whom  thirty- three  wives  are  clinging  in  desperate  woe. 

He  tore  himself  away !  He  was  gone  I  Gone  !  And 
three  groups  of  eleven  each  of  heart-broken  women  sank 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF  27 

upon  the  front  steps  and  sobbed  in  bitter  despair.  Then 
they  flew  to  the  windows  and  gazed  after  him,  and  waved 
their  kerchiefs  to  him,  excepting  perhaps  the  aforetime 
Ballygag,  who,  in  the  violence  of  her  emotion,  waved 
a  flannel  petticoat  which  she  had  been  mending. 

Little  did  they  suspect  what  they  should  endure  ere 
they  looked  upon  that  fond  face  again  !     Life  is  so  full 

of  disappointments,  so  full  of But,  however,  let  us 

go  on. 

Thompson  Dunbar  sailed  away  upon  the  bosom  of  the 
mighty  deep.  For  some  weeks  all  was  well.  The  trea- 
cherous ocean  held  its  powers  in  leash.  One  night  there 
was  a  fearful  tempest,  and  the  gallant  barque,  after  a  pro- 
longed contest  with  the  elements,  sank  to  rise  no  more. 
All  on  board  were  lost ;  all  save  one.  Lashed  to  a  spar 
Thompson  Dunbr.r  contrived  to  sustain  himself  in  the 
seething  foam  for  four  days.  Upon  the  morning  of  the 
fifth  day  he  was  cast  upon  a  desert  island.  He  crawled 
out  of  the  reach  of  the  waves  and  fell  asleep.  He  slum- 
bered long,  and  when  he  awoke  he  released  himself  from 
the  spar,  and  looked  about  him.  He  perceived  that  the 
island  was  small.  It  was  only  fifteen  feet  wide  by  thirty- 
eight  feet  long  ;  but  Dunbar  was  satisfied  with  it.  It  was 
something  for  him  to  stand  upon,  to  live  upon. 

Feeling  hungry,  he  walked  out  looking  to  find  some- 
thing to  eat.  He  discovered  a  bed  of  fine  oysters  in  a 
little  cove  at  the  northern  end  of  the  island,  and  to  his 
great  joy  he  found  that  a  huge  hole  in  the  rock  contained 
a  dozen  hogsheads  of  rain  water !  These  things  were  so 
exceedingly  fortunate  that  he  felt  sure  of  going  through 
the  regular  round  of  desert  island  experiences.    But  in 


2 8  THOMPSON  D  UNBAR, 

this  he  was,  to  a  certain  extent,  disappointed.  The  oysters 
and  water  remained,  of  course,  and  now  and  then  some 
sociable  bird  would  call  and  leave  an  egg,  but  none  of 
the  usual  desert  island  conveniences  floated  ashore. 

Thompson  Dunbar  remained  upon  the  island  for  fifteen 
years  ;  but  when  his  clothing  began  to  wear  out  no  vessel 
was  wrecked  upon  an  adjacent  and  handy  reef,  and  all 
the  crew  drowned,  so  that  he  could  have  a  fair  chance  at 
the  chests  which  contained  clothing  that  fitted  him 
exactly. 

And  no  other  ship  was  cast  ashore  into  which  he 
entered  and  found  twenty  bags  full  of  Spanish  doubloons, 
which  he  gazed  at  with  proud  contempt,  while  the  thought 
occurred  to  him  how  useless  such  dross  is,  especially 
when  you  are  on  a  desert  island,  with  no  possibility  of 
spending  it. 

And  he  did  not  find  in  the  cabin  of  such  a  wreck 
double-barrelled  guns  and  carpenter's  tools,  and  canned 
fruits  and  vegetables,  and  such  a  general  variety  of  useful 
and  fancy  articles  as  no  ship  ever  included  in  a  single 
cargo,  excepting  perhaps  in  cases  where  the  purpose  of 
the  owners  was  to  have  been  wrecked  to  oblige  some 
Robinson  Crusoe  or  other,  and  to  make  him  fat  and  com- 
fortable. 

And  when  he  felt  lonely  and  longed  for  fellowship  and 
the  sweet  communion  of  some  kindred  soul,  it  did  not 
happen  that  a  squad  of  chocolate-coloured  cannibals 
dashed  up  in  a  canoe,  and  were  all  killed  by  a  single 
explosion  of  a  musket  ;  all  save  one,  who  fell  at  Dun- 
bar's feet,  and  became  his  slave  and  his  pupil  and  his 
riend. 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF 


29 


On  the  contrary,  Dunbar  had  a  particularly  prosaic 
time  upon  the  island ;  eating  and  sleeping  and  walking 
about.  After  the  first  shock  produced  by  his  sense  of 
isolation  had  passed,  he  surveyed  the  island  and  made  a 
map  of  it.  Then  he  took  possession  of  it  in  the  name 
of  his  government,  and  formally  annexed  it  to  the  United 
States  by  hoisting  a  flag  made  of  a  felicitous  combina- 
tion of  his  handkerchief  and  his  red  flannel  shirt.  In 
order  to  put  in  the  time,  and  to  give  himself  occupation 
congenial  to  an  American,  he  held  elections  thrice  a 
year,  and  he  celebrated  the  4th  of  July  and  Washington's 
birthday,  when  they  came  around,  by  reading  the  Decla- 
ration of  Independence,  and  singing  the  "  Star  Spangled 
Banner.*' 

But  his  wife !  Did  he  ever  think  of  her  ?  Ah,  yes  ! 
The  bitterness  of  that  separation  no  tongue  can  tell. 
Often  he  would  lie  upon  his  back  and  take  from  his  pocket 
the  thirty-three  miniatures  and  look  at  them  with  longing 
and  tearful  eyes.  And  he  would  get  to  wondering  which 
was  Emma,  which  was  Rebecca,  which  Columbia,  and 
which  Sapphira.  The  lineaments  of  Ballygag  were  the 
only  ones  he  felt  certain  about,  but,  somehow  he  never 
lingered  very  long  over  them. 

And  he  would  ask  himself  if  any  of  her  ever  thought 
much  of  him.  He  would  wonder  if  she  was  all  alive,  or 
if,  perchance,  some  of  her  counted  him  dead,  and  had 
remarried.  Perchance  she  had  departed,  sorrowful  and 
broken-hearted,  and  only  thirty-three  little  grassy  mounds 
in  the  churchyard  remained  to  mark  the  remains  of  her 
who  once  had  been  the  joy  of  his  life. 

It  might  be  that  if  he  should  ever  return  home  he 


*'  Often  he  would  lie  on  his  back  and  take  from  his  pocket  the  thirty- 
three  miniatures  and  look  at  them." — Page  29. 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF  31 


would  find  his  cottage  desolate,  with  no  one  to  love,  none 
to  caress,  and  it  would  devolve  upon  him  to  begin  life 
afresh  by  embezzling  another  boarding-school.  The 
thought  was  bitterness  to  him.  Only  those  who  have 
learned  from  a  sad  experience  what  it  is  to  lose  three 
and-thirty  wives  at  a  blow,  can  realize  the  depth  and  in- 
tensity of  the  sufferings  of  this  unhappy  young  man. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  VICTORY  OF  JONES. 

Meantime,  how  did  Mrs.  Dunbar  bear  the  bereavement 
that  had  come  to  her  ?  For  the  first  three  or  four  years 
she  was  hopeful ;  but  gradually,  as  the  time  passed  swiftly 
by,  and  no  word  came  to  her  from  the  wanderer,  she 
began  to  feel  the  growing  agony  of  despair. 

Often  she  would  go  up  as  the  evening  shadows  fell, 
and  stand  at  each  of  the  thirty-three  windows,  and  gaze 
out  toward  the  glowing  west,  straining  all  sixty-five  of 
her  eyes  (Ethelberta  had  a  cataract),  to  catch  a  glimpse 
of  her  Thompson.  But,  alas  1  Thompson  did  not  come ; 
and  as  a  feeling  of  deep  sadness  stole  in  over  her  souls, 
Mrs.  Dunbar  would  bow  her  heads  over  the  infants  in  her 
arms  and  weep.  Perhaps  she  would  wail  out  her  woes  in 
a  plaintive  lullaby,  which  was  so  distorted  by  her  sobs 
that  Ballygag's  former  partner  would  stop  long  enough  to 
scold  her  for  singing  flat,  and  not  marking  the  dotted 
notes  with  sufficient  distinctness. 

The  misery  of  a  suffering  woman's  heart  !    Who  shall 


32  THOMPSON  DUNBAR. 

sound  it  ?  And  what  multiplication  table  can  compass  it 
where  it  is  thirty-three  times  increased  ?  There  are  some 
conundrums  that  have  to  be  given  up  at  the  outset. 

At  last,  however,  she  was  forced  to  the  conclusion  that 
Thompson  was  dead.  It  was  inevitable.  The  ship  had 
never  been  heard  from.  No  message  had  ever  come  up 
from  the  roaring  sea,  to  tell  the  story  of  her  destruction. 
She  was  gone  ;  and,  without  doubt,  Thompson  had  gone 
down  fathoms  deep  into  the  cruel  waters  with  her.  Mrs. 
Dunbar  abandoned  hope,  and  decided  to  mourn  for  him 
as  one  that  had  been  called  away  to  another  life. 

As  soon  as  her  determination  became  known,  and  she 
began  to  talk  about  putting  on  mourning  the  city  mer- 
chants noted  an  advance  of  two  per  cent,  in  crape  and 
black  bombazine,  and  the  bachelor  Saints  began  to  have 
revelations  concerning  their  duty  to  persuade  her  from 
prolonging  the  period  of  her  widowhood. 

Arbutus  Jones  was  enabled  to  perceive  with  perfect 
cHarness,  what  were  his  obligations  in  the  premises.  He 
made  up  his  mind  that  the  anguish  of  Mrs.  Dunbar  could 
be  assuaged  only  by  sweet  words  of  consolation  from  his 
lips.  He  called  early  to  offer  his  sympathies,  and  after- 
wards he  would  go  around  often  in  the  evenings  and  talk 
with  her  about  the  virtues  of  the  departed  Thompson,  for 
whom,  however,  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  feel  any  but 
a  fictitious  enthusiasm. 

After  a  while,  he  became  more  assiduous  in  his  atten- 
tions, and  he  felt,  reviving  in  his  bosom,  with  all  its  vehe- 
ment force,  the  love  he  had  for  her  when  she  was  maid- 
ens. Often  he  would  lead  her  forth  in  the  twilight,  and, 
while  as  many  of  her  Uttle  han  is  as  he  could  conveniently 


:>'^<  -^ViY  \  ::x^^''^^. 


:^ 


While  as  many  of  her  little  hands  as  he  could  conveniently  hold,  lay 
c©nfidingly  in  his." — -P^^^  32. 

3 


34  THOMPSON  DUNBAR, 

hold,  lay  confidingly  in  his,  they  would  stroll  to  some 
quiet,  grassy  dell,  and  she  would  arrange  herself  in  a 
circle  by  the  side  of  a  babbling  brook,  while  he  sat  in 
the  centre,  and  whispered  soft  words  of  love  to  her,  and 
walked  around,  and  pressed  each  of  her  hands,  and  let 
the  love  light  of  his  eyes  shine  on  her  faces,  and  warm  to 
life  the  flickering  flame  in  her  hearts. 

One  evening  he  proposed  to  her  in  a  lump.  He  asked 
her  to  be  his.  The  Ballygag  was  the  first  to  speak.  She 
said  : — 

*'  Have  you  examined  your  heart,  Arbutus.'*  Do  you 
love  us  truly  ?  " 

*'  Certainly !  Of  course  !  Most  of  you,  anyway.  How- 
ever, sooner  than  lacerate  your  feelings,  I  am  willing  to 
count  you  out,  and  permit  you  to  cling  to  the  memory  of 
Thompson." 

"  But  Tm  the  one  that  can't  be  counted  out.  If  you 
love  me,  I  am  yours  ! " 

*'  I  am  willing  to  sacrifice  my  love  for  your  sake,  to 
save  your  feelings." 

*'  You  are  too  noble,"  said  the  late  Mrs.  B.  "  I  cannot 
consent  to  such  an  act  of  heroic  devotion  upon  your 
part." 

'*  I  think  you  would  be  happier,  maybe,  without  me. 
ni  start  you  in  another  boarding-school." 

**  Loving  heart !  And  do  you  think  I  would  be  willing 
to  accept  such  unselfish  kindness,  when  I  could  not  repay 
you  by  watching  over  you  ?     Never  ! " 

**And  then  you  know,''  said  Jones,  "  Dunbar  might 
eventually  turn  up  and  it  would  be  so  comforting  for  him 
to  have  at  least  one  of  his  wives  remaining  to  him.     So 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF  35 

upon  the  whole,  perhaps,  I  had  better  let  you  float  along 
as  you  are." 

"  Ah  !  Arbutus  !  I  love  you  more  than  ever  when  you 
show  yourself  so  ready  to  surrender  your  own  joy  for  the 
good  of  others.  Take  me,  oh  take  me  to  your  fond 
bosom ! " 

And  the  former  Mrs.  Ballygag  fell  towards  him  with  a 
purpose  to  be  folded  to  his  heart ;  but  Jones,  with  remark- 
able presence  of  mind,  pretended  not  to  see  her,  and 
addressed  himself  assiduously  to  the  task  of  assisting 
Sapphira  to  rise  from  the  ground.  Then  the  whole  of 
Mrs.  Dunbar  rose,  and  retiring  a  little  space,  went  into 
committee  to  consider  the  question.  After  an  animated 
deba4;e,  during  which  the  Ballygag  gave  her  views  the 
fullest  and  most  generous  expression,  Mrs.  Dunbar 
decided  by  a  vote  of  twenty-nine  to  three  (the  woman 
with  the  cataract  not  voting)  to  become  the  wife  of  Arbu- 
tus Jones ! 

Jones  learned  the  decision  with  transports.  One  by 
one  his  sweetheart  was  held  in  his  fond  embrace,  as  he 
kissed  her  and  promised  to  be  true  to  her  ;  and  one  by 
one,  as  she  looked  into  his  manly  face  and  found  there 
the  radiant  joy  of  pure  affection,  she  was  filled  with  trust- 
fulness and  peace,  and  with  him  went  back  to  her  home 
full  of  blissful  anticipations  of  a  future  which  should  com- 
pensate for  all  the  suffering  of  the  sorrowful  past. 

Mr.  Jones  was  very  anxious  to  be  married  speedily ; 
but  the  widow,  of  course,  pressed  for  such  delay  as  would 
be  necessary  to  enable  her  to  prepare  new  outfits  of 
clothing.  There  are  always  stirring  times  in  the  busi- 
ness  of  a  community  when   a  Mormon   wife  or  widow 


36  THOMPSON  DUNBAR. 


begins  to  make  a  movement  in  the  matter  of  clothes.  In 
this  case,  the  appearance  of  Mrs.  Dunbar  unexpectedly 
in  the  market,  caused  such  a  revival  in  trade,  that  the 
merchants  began  to  buy  houses  and  lots,  and  to  set  up 
carriages  under  the  impression  that  a  new  era  of  pros- 
perity had  begun.  But  eventually  Mrs.  Dunbar  was 
ready,  and  the  day  was  fixed.  She  expressed  a  preference 
for  Bishop  Potts,  of  Ogden,  as  the  officiating  clergyman, 
because  she  was  used  to  him,  and,  of  course,  Jones  asked 
the  worthy  Bishop  to  come  over  and  tie  the  knots. 

The  wedding  attracted  a  good  deal  of  attention  in 
Salt  Lake  City.  Jones  sailed  up  the  aisle  of  the  temple 
with  Sapphira  and  Ethelberta  upon  each  arm,  while  fifteen 
of  his  best  friends  each  convoyed  two  others  of  .Mrs. 
Dunbar.  The  sexton  brought  up  the  rear  with  the  ex- 
widow  Ballygag,  who  honoured  the  occasion  by  turning 
out  in  a  green  bonnet  with  yellow  ostrich  feathers,  a 
crimson  poplin  dress  embroidered  with  blue,  with  a  new 
false  front  upon  her  head,  and  with  a  look  of  beaming 
happiness  bursting  through  her  gold  spectacles. 

The  ceremony  occupied  but  a  few  moments,  and 
when  the  Bishop  having  made  these  thirty  four  one  flesh, 
the  procession  turned,  passed  down  the  aisle  again, 
entered  the  carriages,  and  went  to  the  home  that  was 
once  Dunbar's,  but  now  had  come  into  the  possession 
of  Jones. 

Dunbar !  how  he  would  have  been  torn  with  agony  if 
he,  far  away  upon  that  lonely  island  of  the  sea,  could 
have  witnessed  that  scene  in  the  temple !  But  this  tor- 
ture was  mercifully  spared  him.  At  the  moment  when 
his  loving   wife   was   given   to  another  by  the  Bishop, 


THE  TRAGEDY    OF  37 

Thompson  was  splitting  oysters  open  with  his  jack-knife, 
and  thinking  how  uncommonly  good  they  would  be  with 
horse-radish.  No  voice  whispered  the  truth  to  him. 
No  pangs  of  the  heart  interfered  with  the  vigour  of  his 
gastric  juice  ! 

Of  the  domestic  life  which  came  to  Arbutus  Jones, 
with  the  golden  days  which  followed  the  wedding,  we 
need  not  speak.  It  passed  away  sweetly  and  brought 
him  perfect  contentment.  But  one  day,  a  month  or  two 
after  the  marriage,  Arbutus,  upon  his  return  home,  found 
an  elderly  lady  whom  he  did  not  know  occupying  a  seat 
at  his  dinner-table.  He  thought  at  first  it  might  be  one 
of  his  wife,  so  he  counted  the  row  of  her,  and  found  that 
there  were  thirty-four  women  instead  of  thirty-three.  A 
moment  later  Sapphira  introduced  the  stranger  as  her 
mother. 

"  She  has  come  to  stay  with  us.  Arbutus,  dear,  upon 
my  invitation.  I  longed  to  have  her  with  me,  and  I 
knew  you  would  welcome  her  for  my  sake.  Won't  you, 
darling  ?'* 

"  Oh,  certainly !  Glad  to  see  her  !  Very  glad  !  Of 
course.    She  is  always  welcome  here !" 

But  Jones  did  not  look  as  if  he  were  really  glad.  A 
dark  foreboding  entered  his  rnind.  The  precedent  was 
bad ;  it  was  dangerous .  If  this  kind  of  thing  began, 
where  was  it  going  to  stop  ?  That  was  the  question  that 
he  asked  himself,  with  gloom  in  his  soul  and  a  scowl 
upon  his  brow. 

Two  days  later  Mary  Jane's  mother  arrived.  Mary 
Jane  said  that  she  had  invited  her  mother  down  to  spend 
the  summer,  and  to  give  her  a  chance  to  learn  to 


38  THOMPSON  DUNBAR. 

her  son-in-law.  Arbutus  forced  a  smile  as  he  welcomed 
her,  but  it  was  not  difficult  to  see  that  his  mother-in-law 
would  have  to  labour  hard  to  induce  him  to  return  her  love. 

The  following  week  Ethelberta's  mother  came,  osten- 
sibly for  the  purpose  of  superintending  an  operation 
upon  Ethelberta's  cataract.  But  Arbutus  saw  plainly- 
through  the  pretence.  He  was  far  too  acute  a  man  not 
to  know  that  a  woman  who  comes  for  the  purpose  of  wit- 
nessing an  operation  upon  a  cataract  is  not  necessarily 
accompanied  by  six  trunks,  eleven  boxes,  a  bedstead,  two 
bureaus,  a  sewing-machine,  a  cooking-stove,  a  poll  par- 
rot, and  a  cat.  She  had  come  to  stay.  He  knew  it,  and 
he  grated  his  teeth  as  he  strove  to  bear  it  patiently. 

A  month  passed,  and  at  intervals  mothers-in-law  con- 
tinued to  arrive,  until  there  was  a  sum  total  of  twenty- 
one  in  Jones's  house.  He  began  to  grow  desperate. 
One  day  he  called  the  Ballygag  aside.  He  asked  her  if 
she  had  a  mother.     She  said  she  had  not. 

Arbutus  clasped  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her 
tenderly.  She  was  amazed.  He  had  not  been  lavish  of 
caresses  with  her.  She  asked  for  an  explanation.  He 
said — 

*'  I  adore  a  woman  who  has  lost  her  parents.  Ah, 
Lucille  !'*  (her  name  was  Lucille),  "  my  only  regret  now 
is  that  you  didn't  keep  an  orphan  asylum  instead  of  a 
boarding-school,  when  Dunbar  eloped  with  your  establish- 
ment." 

As  he  spoke  thus  the  door-bell  rang.  Lucille  went  out 
to  see  who  was  there.  When  she  returned,  she  said  the 
mothers  of  Columbia  and  Emma  had  just  arrived  with 
two  waggon-loads  of  trunks  and  furniture. 


THE   TRAGEDY  OF  39 

Arbutus  shuddered. 

"This  is  terrible,  Mrs.  Bally — Lucille,  I  mean.  If 
this  thing  continues  I  shall  go  mad.  I  did  not  bargain 
for  this.  Twenty-three  of  them  already —  twenty-three 
mothers-in-law  !  My  reason  will  totter  on  its  throne  T* 

"Yes/'  said  the  former  Mrs.  B.,  "and  Henrietta  and 
Sarah  and  Matilda  told  me  that  they  had  written  this 
morning  for  their  mothers  to  come  on  and  live  here ;  and 
Sarah  said  she  had  invited  one  of  her  aunts  also." 

A  spasm  of  pain  flitted  over  the  face  of  Arbutus  Jones. 
He  sat  down  upon  a  chair.  Was  the  curse  come  upon 
him  ?  Were  the  fates  preparing  for  him  a  scorpion  whip 
of  retribution  for  his  destruction  of  Dunbar's  hopes  of 
happiness  ?  We  cannot  tell.  Maybe  we  wouldn't  tell  if 
we  could. 

While  he  sat  there  trying  to  think  what  he  should  do 
to  avert  the  calamity  that  was  overpowering  him,  a  ser- 
vant entered  with  a  telegram.  Jones  tore  it  open  and 
read  it. 

"  Wh— wh — what's  this  t  *  My  dear  son-in-law  :  Meet 
me  at  the  train  on  Tuesday.  I  am  coming  to  board  with 
you  for  a  few  months.  I  am  your  affectionate  mother- 
in-law.—*  Rebecca  Fitler.' 

"  Rebecca  Fitler !     Who — what— which  one's  she  ?" 

"  She  is  Imogene's  mother.  I  know  her  well.  She's 
worse  about  a  house  than  the  whooping-cough.  Quar- 
relled with  her  husband  till  she  killed  him,"  said 
Lucille.  ^ 

"  Ha  !  ha  ! "  laughed  Jones,  fiercely.  "  Twenty-six 
mothers-in-law  and  an  aunt !  This  is  refreshing !  It  is 
delightful !     Lucille,  I  am  beginning  to  feel  murderous  I 


40  TIJO.MFSON  DUNBAR. 

If  this  kind  of  thing  goes  on  I  shall  soon  be  in  a  frame 
of  mind  which  will  make  indulgence  in  assassination 
seem  hke  pastime." 

'*  I'm  afraid  it  will  go  on/'  said  the  late  Mrs.  Bally- 
gag,  looking  out  of  the  window  ;  "  I  see  Geraldine's 
mother  coming  up  the  front  yard  with  a  carpet-bag  and  a 
band-box.     She  makes  twenty-seven  ! " 

**  Twenty- seven  and  an  aunt !  "  exclaimed  Arbutus. 
**  Five  more  to  hear  from  1  But  we  can  rely  upon  them 
to  come,  I  think,  can't  we,  Lucille  ?  May  be  I'd  better 
write  to  them  for  fear  they  forget  it ; "  and  Arbutus 
laughed  a  wild,  hysterical  laugh. 

'*  What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it  ?  "  asked  the  late 
widow  B. 

'*  Do  ?  What  am  I  going  to  do  ?  I  am  going  to  do 
something  terrible  !  Something  desperate  !  No  man  can 
stand  this  persecution  !  I  don't  mind  having  a  couple  of 
dozen  or  so  of  mothers-in-law  around,  but  the  line  must 
be  drawn  somewhere,  and  I  draw  it  at  twenty-seven  and 
an  aunt." 

"  You  could  get  rid  of  them  by  obtaining  a  divorce/' 
said  Lucille. 

"  No  ;  I  shan't  do  that.  It's  too  expensive.  Besides, 
I  don't  want  to  give  up  the  girls.'' 

"  Suppose  you  order  the  mothers  to  leave,  and  if  they 
refuse  force  them  from  the  house  ?  " 

"  Won't  do,"  said  Arbutus,  shaking  his  head  thought- 
fully. *'  You  don't  know  them.  An  army  couldn't  put 
them  out — an  army  rigged  out  with  Krupp  guns  and 
battering  rams.  No,  no  !  We  must  resort  to  something 
more  desperate." 


THE  TRA  GED  Y  OF  41 

"  How  would  it  do  to  put  poison  in  their  tea  ?  *' 

"  I  can't  see  any  profit  in  it.  They'll  die.  I'll  have  to 
stand  the  funeral  expenses,  and  may  be  pay  the  cost  of 
the  post-mo?''tem  examinations.'' 

*^  Well,  then,  blow  them  up  with  gunpowder.'* 

"  No,  dear  ;  you  must  suggest  something  more  practi- 
cable. The  explosion  would  disfigure  the  furniture,  and  it 
would  make  old  Partridge,  the  coroner,  wild  with  joy. 
Lucille,  I  hate  that  man  with  bitter  hatred  ;  and  shall  I 
do  a  thing  that  will  give  him  thirty  or  forty  inquests,  and 
help  him  to  pay  off  the  mortgage  on  his  house  ?  Never, 
my  dear,  never  ! " 

"  I  don't  see  how  we  can  manage  it,  then,"  said  the 
Ballygag. 

"  Let  me  give  you  an  idea,"  said  Arbutus.  "  I  have 
in  my  mind  the  outlines  of  a  malignant  plot,  which  will 
rid  me  of  these  women  for  ever.  It  is  an  awful  thing  to 
do,  this  that  I  propose,  but  the  case  is  desperate  ;  I  am 
driven  to  an  extremity.  Will  you  promise  to  help  me  in 
it?" 

"Yes." 

"  Do  you  know  any  of  Mrs.  Brigham  Young." 

"  Oh,  yes ;  one  of  her  went  to  school  to  me.  She  was 
the  best  girl  I  had  at  grammar.  She  could  tell  a  participle 
as  far  as  she  could  see  it.'* 

"  Well,"  said  Arbutus,  ^'  I  want  you  to  go  to  see  her. 
Tell  her  I  will  give  her  a  thousand  dollars  if  she  will 
persuade  the  Prophet  to  have  a  revelation  declaring  that 
all  my  mothers-in-law  must  be  sealed  at  once  to  Part- 
ridge, the  coroner  !     Will  you  ?  '* 

"  You  must  have  a  very  deep  grudge  against  Partridge.' 


42  THOMPSON  DUNBAR, 

"  I  have !     I  want  him  to  suffer.     Will  you  go  ?  " 

"  I  will ;  and  I  think  I  can  manage  the  matter  for 
you.    How  about  Sarah's  aunt  }  " 

"  Run  her  in  with  the  rest  I  Make  it  as  hard  for 
Partridge  as  we  can.     Give  him  the  whole  twenty  eight." 

"  I'll  go  around  at  once/'  said  Lucille,  and  she  left  the 
room. 

A  gleam  of  savage  exultation  shone  from  Jones's  eyes, 
as  he  thought  of  the  probable  completeness  of  his  venge- 
ance. In  an  hour  the  Bally  gag  returned.  It  was  all 
fixed.  She  had  a  promise  that  the  order  would  be  issued 
the  next  morning. 

Sure  enough,  next  morning  Partridge  called,  looking 
livid  with  rage. 

"  Where,"  said  he  to  Jones,  *'  are  these  preposterous 
old  hags  that  you  are  trying  to  shove  off  on  me  ?  Where 
are  they  .'*    Trot  'em  out  so's  I  can  see  'em." 

"  See  here,  Partridge,  I  don't  want  you  to  speak  in 
that  disrespectful  manner  of  my  wife's  mothers.  What 
do  you  want  to  see  them  for  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you  needn't  pretend  you  don't  know.  I'm 
mighty  certain  you  fixed  this  thing  up  against  me.  But 
I  s'pose  I've  got  to  take  'em.     So  let's  see  'em.'* 

The  ladies  filed  in.  Jones  announced  the  news  to 
them,  as  gently  as  he  could.  Six  fainted  on  the  spot. 
Ten  simply  screamed.  Three  said  they'd  die  rather  than 
marry  a  coroner.  Three,  and  Sarah's  aunt,  smiled,  and 
said  they  considered  it  as,  upon  the  whole,  rather  a  good 
thing. 

"  Well,  I  don't,"  replied  Partridge.   "  To  speak  plainly 
you're  a  discouraging-looking    crowd.      See   here,   you 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF  43 


women  who  are  screaming  there,  you  needn't  carry  on  in 
that  manner.  You  don't  want  me  any  less  than  I  want 
you!" 

"Partridge,"  said  Jones,  *'go  about  it  with  more 
suavity.  You  can't  possibly  gain  their  affection  if  you 
proceed  in  that  manner.     Woo  them  gently.*' 

**  I  don't  want  any  interference  from  you,"  replied 
Partridge.  ''  Here,  you  women !  Get  on  your  things,  and 
come  along.  I'd  commit  suicide  to  get  rid  of  you, 
if  it  wasn't  that  I  don't  want  my  successor  to  collect 
a  fee  for  my  remains.  Come  on  now,  and  be  quick 
about  it." 

Then  the  bride  and  groom  filed  out;  Mrs.  Jones, 
meantime,  standing  in  a  line  in  the  hall  weeping,  while 
Jones  kept  his  handkerchief  to  his  eyes  and  chuckled. 

When  Partridge  reached  the  front  gate,  he  turned 
around,  and,  shaking  his  fist  at  Jones,  he  shouted  :— 

"  You  never  mind  !     I'll  pay  you  for  this,  old  fellow !  " 

And  then  the  party  proceeded  to  the  temple,  and  soon 
was  hopelessly  bound  in  the  chains  of  wedlock. 

Upon  the  departure  of  his  wife's  mothers,  Jones 
rubbed  his  hands,  and,  in  a  gleeful  mood,  danced  about 
the  room  with  the  Ballygag.  He  was  joyful.  He  had 
reason  for  joy.  But  there  was  a  dire  and  awful  retribu- 
tion preparing  for  him.  The  shadow  of  his  doom  was 
slowly  creeping  toward  him. 


44  THOMPSON  DUNBAR, 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  RETURN. 

Fifteen  years  had  elapsed  since  Thompson  Dunbar 
tore  himself  away  from  his  bride,  and  his  happy  home. 
Fifteen  years  had  he  dragged  out  a  dreary  existence 
upon  his  lonely  rock  in  the  midst  of  the  sea.  One  day 
he  saw  a  ship  approaching  the  island,  and  he  made  frantic 
signals  to  attract  the  attention  of  those  on  board.  Twice 
the  ship  seemed  to  turn  away  from  him,  but  at  last,  to 
his  great  joy,  his  signals  were  answered,  a  boat  was 
lowered,  and  in  half-an-hour  he  stood  upon  the  deck  of 
**  The  Golden  Horn,"  bound  for  San  Francisco. 

The  captain  gave  him  a  suit  of  clothes,  and  loaned  him 
some  money ;  and  as  soon  as  the  vessel  touched  the 
wharf,  a  few  weeks  later,  he  leaped  ashore,  and  took  the 
first  train  for  Salt  Lake  City. 

Imagine  the  alternations  of  hope  and  despair  that 
distracted  his  mind  !  Again  and  again  he  asked  himself 
how  he  should  find  her.  Would  she  be  all  alive  and  well, 
or  partially  dead  ?  Would  his  children  be  alive  t  Would 
he  find  his  home  as  beautiful  as  ever?  Would  he  go 
there  to  obtain  peace  and  joy,  or  to  sutler  pangs  of 
terrible  sorrow  ? 

As  he  mused,  the  train  entered  the  city.  It  was  early 
afternoon.  He  thought  he  would  go  to  the  hotel  and 
learn  something  of  the  truth,  before  he  sought  his  cottage. 
It  might  be  less  terrible  if  he  should  be  prepared  be- 
forehand. 

The  landlord  of  the   hotel  did  not   recognize  him. 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF  45 

His  bronzed  and  furrowed  face,  his  shaggy  hair  and 
beard,  his  bent  form,  suggested  nothing  of  the  Thomp- 
son Dunbar  who  had  gone  away  a  decade  and  a  half 
before, 

Thompson  sought  information  from  the  landlord. 

"Did  you  know  a  man  named  Thompson  Dunbar?" 
he  asked. 

"  Yes,  indeed !  Knew  him  well.  He  left  here  fifteen 
or  sixteen  years  ago.    He  was  a  sailor,  you  know." 

"  What  became  of  him  ?  " 

*  Lost,  sir,  lost !  It^s  supposed  so,  at  any  rate.  No 
word  ever  came  from  him,  or  about  him.  His  ship  was 
wrecked,  we  know." 

"  Was  he  married  ?  " 

"  Married  !  Ah  !  that's  just  it,  sir  !  He  was  married 
to  thirty-three  of  the  loveliest  girls  in  the  city.  A  young 
and  charming  bride,  and  a  swarm  of  the  dearest  children." 

"  Did  Mrs.  Dunbar  take  it  hardly  ?" 

"  Indeed  she  did,  sir !  Cried  her  eyes  out,  nearly. 
Went  on  at  a  most  fearful  rate.  Everybody  sympathized 
with  her." 

"  Is  she  all  alive  yet  ?  '* 

'*  Oh  yes." 

"And  well?" 

**  I  believe  so  ;  perfectly.  She  was  the  last  time  I 
saw  her.'' 

**  When  did  you  see  her  ?  " 

**  Well,  I  haven't  seen  her  myself  for  several  weeks ; 
but  my  book-keeper  told  me  he  saw  three  of  Mrs.  Jones 
out  driving  yesterday." 

**  I  was  referring  to  Mrs.  Dunbar,"  said  Thompson, 


46  THOMPSON  DUNBAR. 

"  I  know,"  replied  the  landlord  ;  "  I  say  my  clerk  saw 
three  of  her  riding  out." 

**  But  you  said  he  saw  Mrs.  Jones." 

"  Well,  don't  I  say  he  saw  Mrs.  Jones  !  You  seem  to 
be  dull  of  comprehension." 

"  Maybe  I  am  ;  maybe  I  am.  Only  you  are  talking 
about  Mrs.  Jones,  and  I  am  talking  about  Mrs.  Dunbar." 

"  But,  my  goodness  man  !  See  here !  Her  name  was 
Dunbar  when  she  was  Dunbar's  wife,  wasn't  it?  And 
when  she  married  Jones  her  name  was  Jones.  Do  you 
understand  ? " 

"  Married  !  is  she  married?" 

*'  Certainly !  of  course ! " 

"  Married  to  Jones !    What  Jones  ?" 

"Why,  Arbutus  Jones;  been  married  several  years.' 

The  head  of  Thompson  Dunbar  fell  upon  the  table, 
and  he  did  not  even  try  to  keep  back  the  sobs  which  burst 
from  his  overladen  heart.  Then  a  thought  occurred  to 
him.     Looking  up  he  said  to  the  landlord  : — 

*'  And  Jones  ?     He  is  dead  ?  " 

"  No,  sir  ;  alive  and  well,  and  heartier  than  ever." 

Thompson  Dunbar  arose  and  staggered  from  the 
room.  He  sought  the  privacy  of  his  chamber,  where  he 
could  weep  tears  of  passionate  grief. 

An  hour  or  two  later  his  mind  was  made  up.  His 
heart  was  broken,  but  he  would  have  one  long,  last 
lingering  look  at  his  darlings  and  his  children  before  he 
sought  the  tomb. 

He  seized  his  hat  and  cane,  and  walked  rapidly 
toward  the  house  where  he  used  to  live.  As  he  came 
near  to   it  he   recognized  it  as  the  old  place  but  little 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF  47 

changed.  How  dear  it  had  been  to  him  !  How  much  he 
had  loved  it !  And  now  another  poUuted  its  hearth- 
stone. Another  had  whitewashed  its  fence  I  He  groaned 
as  he  thought  of  these  things. 

There  were  children  playing  in  the  yard.  One  hand- 
some boy  had  run  out  into  the  highway  after  an  errant 
ball.  Thompson  spoke  to  him.  The  boy  stopped  to 
listen.  Thompson  recognized  the  suit  he  had  on.  It  had 
been  made  by  a  pious  maternal  hand  from  Dunbar's  own 
wedding  coat. 

Thompson  asked  the  boy  to  sit  upon  the  grass  with 
him. 

**  What  is  your  name,  my  lad  ?  "  he  asked. 

**  William  T.  Dunbar,  sir,"  the  boy  replied. 

"  And  where  is  your  father  ?  " 

"Drowned!" 

"  Are  you  sure  of  that  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.     I  know  he  is.     Mother  says  so." 

"  Have  you  no  other  father  ?  " 

''Yes!  old  Jones!'' 

"Do you  love  him  1  ^ 

"  No,  sir ;  not  when  he  licks  me." 

"  He  whips  you,  does  he  V^ 

"  Sometimes  1 " 

Dunbar  felt  his  anger  growing  hot.  He  felt  an  im- 
pulse to  go  in  and  kill  Jones  on  the  spot ;  but  he  thought 
better  of  it. 

"  What  would  you  say,  my  dear  boy,"  he  asked,  "  if  I 
should  tell  you  that  your  real  father  is  not  dead  ?  " 

"  I  should  say  you  were  a  scandalous  old  story-teller.'' 

"  But  I  do  tell  you  so  !     I  am  your  father  ! " 


48  THOMPSON  DUNBAR. 

The  boy  laughed,  when  he  looked  thoughtfully  at 
Dunbar  and  said : — 

"  Did  you  ever  read  the  story  about  George  Washing- 
ton and  his  little  hatchet  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  son." 

"  Well,  you'd  better  go  home  and  study  up  that  story. 
George  couldn't  tell  a  lie.  There'll  never  be  an  anecdote 
of  that  kind  written  about  you." 

Thompson  heaved  a  deep  sigh.  He  was  about  to 
reason  with  the  lad,  when  a  sharp  female  voice  was  heard 
calling  — 

**  Billee — ee — ee— ee— ee  !     Billee — ee — ee !  * 

"  That's  me  I "  said  the  boy.  "  She's  calhng  me.  I 
must  go,"  and  he  jumped  from  the  ground. 

*'  Who  is  it  ?  "  asked  Dunbar. 

"  Old  Ballygag,  we  call  her,"  said  the  boy.  "One  of 
pa's  wives  ! " 

The  next  moment  the  head  of  Ballygag  was  projected 
over  the  fence  top,  and  she  saw  Thompson. 

*'  Billy,"  she  exclaimed,  *'  you  come  into  the  house 
this  instant!  How  many  times  have  I  told  you  not  to 
have  anything  to  do  with  those  abominable  tramps  that 
come  loafing  about  here,  sneaking  little  children  away 
from  their  parents,  and  breaking  their  mother's  heart. 
You'll  be  kidnapped  the  first  thing  you  l^now,  or  lost 
like  your  poor  dear  father,  who  went  down  to  the  bottom 
of  the  Pacific  Ocean  and  was  never  heard  of  again, 
leastways,  by  any  of  us  who  ought  to  have  heard  of  him 
if  he  was  alive  and  well,  which  he  wasn't,  Heaven  bless 
his  soul !  for  how  could  he  be  when  he  was  bitten  all  to 
pieces  by  the  sharks  ?     Billy,  come  right  in  this  minute ; 


"  Billy,  come  right  in  this  minute." — Page  48. 


50  THOMPSON  DUNBAR. 

and  you,  you  old  vagabond,  move  on,  and  don't  come 
hanging  around  here  looking  like  a  long-haired  lunatic, 
scaring  people's  children  half  to  death  I  Move  on,  or  I'll 
call  the  pohce  !" 

And  the  Ballygag  grasped  Billy,  already  upon  the 
other  side  of  the  fence,  boxed  his  ears  a  couple  of  times 
and  led  him  in  bawling. 

Thompson  turned  sadly  away  and  began  to  walk  to- 
wards his  hotel.  A  tramp  !  And  this  was  a  woman  he 
had  once  called  by  the  endearing  name  of  wife  !  Better 
to  have  stayed  upon  his  desert  island  and  to  have  died 
there  miserable  and  forlorn,  than  to  have  come  home  to 
such  agony  and  insult  as  this. 

He  determined  never  to  seek  his  home  again  unless 
he  should  resolve  to  reveal  himself  to  his  wife.  But  the 
yearning  that  he  felt  was  too  strong.  He  could  not  resist 
it.  When  the  shadows  of  evening  fell  he  sought  the 
house  again.  There  were  brilliant  lights  in  the  windows 
as  he  softly  crept  through  the  gateway  and  trod  with 
noiseless  footfall  upon  the  gravelled  walk.  He  stepped 
upon  the  porch,  and  hiding  behind  a  shutter  he  peered 
through  the  casement. 

How  beautiful  that  sweet  domestic  scene!  but  how 
horrible  for  him !  His  own  dear  sitting-room,  and  yet  not 
his! 

There  she  was !  Emma,  Sapphira,  Ethelberta,  Hen- 
rietta, Columbia — all  of  her.  A  few  of  her  sat  about  the 
centre  table  knitting.  A  few  of  her,  were  ranged  around 
the  wall.  Lucille  (his  own  Ballygag)  was  there  making 
over  one  of  Thompson's  shirts  for  Jones  !  Everything 
seemed  to  conspire  to  cut  him  up. 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF 


51 


There  was  Arbutus  Jones,  his  old  rival,  sitting  in  an 
arm-chair  with  smiling  face,  dandling  three  infants  upon 
each  knee.  He  was  playing  with  them  and  with  forty-two 
other  children ;  and  in  a  corner  were  seven  cradles  full  of 
babes,  among  them  two  twins  and  a  triplet,  which  were 
rocked  by  a  hydraulic  engine  operated  by  pellucid  water 
from  the  sparkling  mountain  stream.  Every  now  and 
then  one  of  Mrs.  Jones  would  look  up  from  her  work  and 
smile  at  her  husband  and  at  the  pranks  of  the  little  ones. 
They  were  all  so  peaceful,  so  happy,  so  thoughtless  of 
the  haggard  man  who  shivered  and  shuddered  out  there 
in  the  dusky  night  as  with  wild  eyes  he  devoured  the  scene. 

Thompson  looked  eagerly  at  the  children.  In  the 
faces  of  some  he  traced  his  own  lineaments,  his  own 
noble  Roman  nose ;  in  others  he  saw  distinctly  the  facial 
outlines  of  Jones  :  he  saw  the  nose  which  turned  upward 
as  if  perpetually  it  would  sniff  the  celestial  constellations. 

There  was  a  great  pain  in  his  heart.  He  did  not  know 
what  to  do.  He  was  dazed,  bewildered.  His  first  impulse 
was  to  express  his  emotion  by  bursting  in  the  window 
with  a  brick.  But  he  repented  him  of  the  thought.  His 
wife  was  happy.  It  would  be  most  horrible  for  him  to 
break  in  upon  the  even  current  of  her  lives  and  to  bring 
misery  to  that  joyous  household.  Hecould  not  bear  to  do 
it.  What  right  had  he  to  make  Jones's  children  mother- 
less, and  their  father  a  houseless  wanderer  ?  He  would 
not  do  so  fearful  an  act.  He  would  go  quietly  away  and 
lay  him  down  and  die.  Death  would  be  welcome  to  him 
now.  He  had  nothing  to  live  for,  nothing  to  hope  for,  no 
joy  or  happiness  any  more  in  this  cold  and  cruel  world. 

He  returned  again   to  his   lodging.      That  night  a 


5  2  THOMPSON  D UNBAR, 

raging  fever  attacked  him.  For  days  he  was  wild  with 
delirium,  but  at  last  the  fever  left  him,  and  he  became 
conscious.  His  life  was  fast  ebbing  away.  The  physician 
told  him  that  the  end  was  near.  He  must  finish  at  once 
his  connection  with  the  affairs  of  this  world. 

He  called  for  his  landlord. 

**  When  I  am  dead,"  he  said,  "  I  want  you  to  have  my 
remains  prepared  for  the  tomb,  and  then  I  wish  you  to 
send  for  Mrs.  Arbutus  Jones  to  come  here  to  look  upon 
my  face.'' 

"  Which  of  her  ?  "  asked  the  landlord,  sadly. 

"  All  of  her.  She  loved  me  once.  She  will  wish  to 
see  me." 

"  Who  are  you  ?" 

"Thompson  Dunbar!*' 

And  then  his  tired  spirit  winged  its  way  into  the  illimit- 
able ether.    He  was  no  more.    Perhaps  he  was  even  less. 

The  last  message  of  the  unhappy  Thompson  was  con- 
veyed to  Mrs.  Jones  ;  and  she  came,  in  melancholy  array, 
to  view  all  that  remained  of  him  who  had  won  the  love  of 
her  youth.  It  was  a  sad,  sad  scene  at  that  reunion. 
Thirty-two  fond  women  in  tears,  and  the  late  Mrs.  Bally- 
gag  haunted  by  an  awful  fear  that  she  had  slain  him  by 
denouncing  him  as  a  tramp,  snatching  his  boy  from  his 
arms,  and  driving  him  from  his  home. 

Even  Jones  was  affected.  Overcome  by  the  spectacle 
of  his  wife's  grief,  he  wandered  off  disconsolate  to  the 
barroom,  and  tried  to  find  solace  in  a  variety  of  mixed 
beverages. 

Of  course  Coroner  Partridge  came  ;  his  duty  was  to 
View  the  body.    When  the  shocking  story  was  told  him, 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF  53 

lie  laughed.  Partridge,  a  man  holding  a  high  and  res- 
ponsible and  most  solemn  public  position  actually  laughed 
boisterously.  Persons  thought  that  his  familiarity  with 
woe  had  robbed  him  of  sensibility  ;  but  that  was  not  it. 
Partridge  had  suddenly  thought  of  a  terrible  scheme  of 
revenge. 

The  funeral  was  held  upon  the  following  Tuesday. 
Mrs.  Jones  attended  in  full  force,  and  each  of  her  carried 
with  her  a  modest  tombstone,  bearing  a  tribute  to  the 
memory  of  Thompson  Dunbar.  They  buried  him  upon 
the  hillside  with  impressive  ceremonies,  and  then  Mrs. 
Jones  planted  the  thirty-three  tombstones  upon  the  grave 
and  watered  them  v/ith  her  tears. 

Mrs.  Jones  returned  to  her  home  sorrowful,  but  trying 
to  regard  the  matter  with  a  spirit  of  resignation.  Thence- 
forth she  would  be  happy  with  her  children. 

Happy  !  The  next  morning  Mr.  Partridge  called. 
Mr.  Jones  and  the  whole  of  his  wife  were  at  home.  After 
some  preliminary  and  original  remarks  about  the  weather, 
Partridge  said — 

**  By  the  way,  Jones,  you  know  my  brother  Joe  ?" 

"  The  druggist,  you  mean  .?" 

"  Yes,  the  druggist.  I  called,  ladies,  to  ascertain  what 
you  think  of  him." 

"  We  don't  know  him,''  the  ladies  said. 

"  And  we  don't  want  to  know  him,"  Jones  added. 

*'  Ah,  that  is  indeed  unfortunate.  I  hoped  the  ladies 
knew  him  and  admired  him,"  said  Partridge. 

"  Nobody,"  rephed  Jones,  sarcastically,  "  admires  a  man 
who  looks  like  a  clothes-pin  stuck  in  an  apple-  That  isn't 
our  favourite  style  of  man." 


54  THOMPSON  DUNBAR. 


"  How  sad  !''  exclaimed  Partridge,  calmly.  "  It  would 
be  so  much  better  for  all  parties  if  there  was  some  basis 
upon  which  to  build  a  genuine  affection." 

*'  Affection !  What  in  thunder  do  you  mean  T  de- 
manded Jones,  warmly,  and  rising  from  his  chair. 

**  Why/*  said  Partridge,  "  where  parties  have  to  live  to- 
gether, love  is  necessary  to  happiness/' 

"  Partridge  ! "  exclaimed  Jones,  "  I  don't  want  to 
knock  out  your  brains  ;  you  have  so  little  to  spare.  But 
I  shall  be  obliged  to  do  so  if  you  keep  on.  I'll  brain 
you  right  before  Mrs.  Jones  " 

**  Mrs.  Jones  ! "  said  Partridge.  "  What  Mrs.  Jones  ? 
I  don't  see  any  Mrs.  Jones  about  here." 

"  No  more  of  this  nonsense,"  said  Jones,  fiercely. 
**  Quit  now,  or  I'll  throw  you  out  of  the  window." 

**  When  I  quit,  these  ladies  go  with  me,*'  said  Part- 
ridge, waving  his  hand  toward  the  group. 

"  Mr.  Partridge,  please  explain  your  self,"  appealed 
Sapphira 

**  Certainly,  madam.*' 

**  He'd  better,  or  I'll  murder  him,"  said  Jones. 

**  I  suppose,  ladies,  you  consider  yourself  the  wife  of 
this  person,  Jones .?" 

"  Certainly,"  was  the  unanimous  answer. 

**0f  course,**  shouted  Jones. 

**  Well,  you  ain't,"  said  Partridge. 

"  Why  not  ?"  they  asked. 

**  You  were  married  to  him  while  Dunbar  was  alive. 
The  marriage,  therefore,  was  illegal.  It  was  null  and 
void.  Consequently,  you  are  now  simply  Mrs.  Dunbar* 
the  widow  of  the  late  Thompson  Dunbar." 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF  55 


*<  Is  that  all,"  said  Jones,  laughing;  "we'll  soon 
remedy  that.  We  will  perform  the  ceremony  again  this 
afternoon." 

"Oh,  no  you  won't,  Mr.  Jones,"  sneered  Partridge, 
**  I  don't  think  you  will." 

"  Why  not  ?     I'd  like  to  know  who  will  prevent  me  ?  " 

**  I  will." 

"How?" 

"Last  night,  the  Prophet  Young  had  a  revelation. 
He  was  commanded  to  seal  the  whole  of  the  widow 
Dunbar  to  another  man.  That  man  was  my  brother  Joe  !  " 

Arbutus  Jones  uttered  a  wild  exclamation,  which  can- 
not be  reproduced  here  without  injury  to  good  manners 
and  to  the  morals  of  the  reader.  The  thirty-three  widows 
fell  fainting  upon  the  floor.  Partridge  sent  a  servant  to 
call  up  his  carriages.  They  came.  Jones  showed  some 
signs  of  a  resistance,  but  Partridge  said  : — 

*'Come,  now,  old  fellow,  you  know  it's  of  no  use. 
This  is  exactly  the  way  you  played  it  on  me,  and  I  took 
my  punishment  like  a  man.  You  might  as  well  do  the 
same.  Joe  '11  make  her  a  better  husband  than  you,  any- 
way." 

Jones  perceived  the  folly  of  fighting  against  the 
Prophet  and  fate.  He  kissed  his  darlings  fondly,  as  they 
began  to  resuscitate,  and  then  flying  out  into  the  garden, 
he  sought  a  deep  recess  among  the  trees,  and  cursed  Joe 
and  all  the  Partridges,  and  the  Prophet,  and  the  Church, 
and  Mormondom  generally,  from  Joe  Smith  down  to 
Brigham,  and  back  again.  Then  he  left  his  home  for 
ever,  envious  of  the  rest  that  had  come  to  his  rival, 
Dunbar,  in  the  depths  of  the  sepulchre. 


5  6  Til  O  Mrs  ON  D  UNBAR, 

Partridge  took  the  widow  down  to  his  brother  Joe's, 
and  Joe  and  he  tried  to  persuade  her  to  accept  her  fate. 
She  did  so,  at  last,  sullenly  and  reluctantly  ;  but,  never- 
theless, with  recognition  of  the  fact  that  it  was  a  religious 
duty.  She  was  married  to  Joseph  Partridge,  and  to  his 
home  she  came  after  the  ceremony.  He  tried  to  make 
her  happy  by  giving  her  free  run  of  the  gum  drops,  and 
liquorice,  and  jujube  paste,  and  fancy  soap,  and  tooth 
brushes  in  the  store.  But  none  of  these  things  comforted 
her,  and  life  became  more  intolerable  for  her  every  day. 

Jones  did  call  one  day,  when  her  husband  was  away 
on  business  at  Ogden,  and  proposed  to  her  to  elope  with 
him,  and  join  the  Gentiles.  But  none  of  her  were  willing 
to  commit  such  an  awful  sin,  excepting  the  high-spirited 
and  irrepressible  Ballygag  ;  and  Jones,  after  considering 
the  matter,  concluded  that  the  enterprise,  in  her  company, 
had  not  those  fascinating  characteristics  which  had 
seemed  to  him  to  distinguish  it  when  the  idea  first  oc- 
curred to  him.  He  bade  the  whole  of  Mrs.  Partridge 
farewell,  for  ever,  and,  going  out  into  the  wilderness,  he 
foreswore  civilization.  He  joined  the  Kickapoo  Indians, 
and  began  practising  war-whoops. 

As  for  Mrs.  Partridge,  she  dwindled  and  died,  one  by 
one,  and  her  husband  bought  an  acre  in  the  cemetery,  in 
which  he  placed  her;  and  when  the  last  was  gone,  he 
went  back  to  his  desolate  home,  to  roll  pills  in  agony, 
and  to  moisten  his  salts  and  senna  with  his  tears  I 


